Stolen Heart
by CanITellUSmThin
Summary: Robbing houses was his profession, an important part of his life. He was always careful about each job he undertook. But when Kristoff makes the mistake of looting one particular house, he unravels a dark secret that he'll ultimately regret... (mAU, one-sided Elsanna)


**AN: Omg... why am I doing this when I should be working on my other stories!? Ugh... Hope you like it though. ;D It's definitely a little different from my usual because for once Anna and Elsa are not the main character! Also this is going to be like two parts.**

It was a nice, warm and pleasantly quiet night.

A suspicious looking man dressed entirely in black hid within well-manicured bushes beside the porch steps in front of a relatively decent-sized house. He crouched low and peered through the branches and leaves, motionless and silent, waiting for the woman that lived in the house to leave.

For the longest time Kristoff had scouted this very house, peeking through the first floor windows at the magnificent objects the occupant had lying around on tables and shelves that were just begging to be stolen. No doubt the woman that lived there was rich to some degree. While the house itself was average size, certainly not a mansion, the two expensive cars she owned, a silver Mercedes and a black Jaguar, screamed that she was wealthy enough. And with no security cameras anywhere to be seen, the house was the perfect candidate for his next break in and he was overly anxious to get to work.

The sound of keys jingling caught his attention as the woman left her home, locking the front door behind her. With the woman illuminated under the bright porch light, Kristoff was able to see quite clearly the heart shaped diamond necklace she wore around her smooth and pale neck, the precious stone resting slightly above the cleavage of her breasts. The sight of the jewelry was literally breathtaking and all he could think about was how much money the little bugger could get him if he managed to grab hold of it. Due to it's unfortunate current placement, that wasn't going to happen, at least not that night. Normally Kristoff only struck once when robbing houses, but in this case he wouldn't mind making an exception…

The woman was dressed up as if she were heading off to some gala affair. As she walked down the marble pathway to the parked Mercedes in the driveway, her crystal heels clicking, Kristoff couldn't help but gawk at the sensual beauty the woman exuded. Wearing a slim, form fitting strapless ice blue dress, with a slit that allowed her shapely legs to show tantalizingly, and carrying a matching handbag hanging lazily by her hip, Kristoff saw what he could only describe as a majestic queen. Her white-blond hair, which reminded the thief of snow, was thrown up into a perfect bun with not one strand of hair out of order.

 _A Snow Queen_ , he thought in awe, watching as she entered the vehicle fluidly.

The driver's side door slammed, the Mercedes engine purred to life and the car pulled out into the street and drove off. Twigs scratched at his face as Kristoff shifted on his feet, wanting to leave the bush. But he knew better than to rush into a job carelessly. He'd almost got caught once when a family returned home not five minutes after leaving for a trip they were going to take because they forgot something or other. He learned his lesson after that.

He waited fifteen minutes just in case she decided to come back for whatever reason, and when the fifteen minutes were up with no sign of her return, he crawled out of the bush stealthily. Hefting his camouflage backpack onto his back, he sneakily crept up the porch steps to the door. Digging into his back pocket, he took out his lock picking gear, opening the rectangular case that held his tools. The tools rattled loudly against the plastic and he winced and checked around, hoping no one was around to hear the racket. He inserted his lock picking tools inside the lock on the door and played with it until there was a familiar click. Kristoff turned the knob and pushed the door open. Smiling wickedly, he grabbed his stuff and hurried inside, closing the door quietly behind him and locking it.

Once he was safely inside he shivered and breathed out sharply at the bitter cold that permeated the air. It was like he had walked into a damn icebox! How high did she keep her AC on? Unclipping a small flashlight he had attached to his belt, he stepped over the threshold to his immediate right and clicked it on. Sweeping it across the room, he quickly took note of the many expensive objects he'd ogled the past few days from behind a window and whimpered happily, "I'm gonna cry."

Antique ceramic vases on antique furniture; a multi-colored onyx ashtray- Kristoff figured it was worth five-hundred dollars, but he sometimes grossly over exaggerated how much things could be worth- TVs and other electronics; bottles of vintage wine behind a glass window in a cabinet. If possible he would have taken it all. Unfortunately, Kristoff didn't have a van or even a car waiting for him to carry the larger stuff. He could only carry what would fit in his bag and so would have to settle for smaller objects, like the ashtray. He would snag a bottle or two of wine on his way out.

Kristoff got to work. The ashtray was cleaned out, no cigarette buds or ashes, so he dropped it in his bag and added a digital camera that was sitting beside it. Maybe he would find some juicy pictures of the goddess of the house on the memory card. He pushed aside unimportant stuff searching for other valuable objects. He came upon some unopened mail and glanced briefly at the name stamped on the first envelope, wanting to know the name of his latest unlucky victim.

Elsa Arendelle.

"Elsa," he said, liking how the name rolled pleasantly off his tongue. "Hm. Sounds like a fitting name for a queen," he mused aloud and grimaced at his sloppy slip-up, slapping his hand over his mouth too late. He had a bad habit of talking to himself at times, which was a habit he was woefully trying to break. But old habits die hard. As long as no one was around, he would be fine.

An urn sat on top of the mantel and he lifted the lid and shinned his light inside it to check its contents. All he saw was a pile of dust. Quickly he placed the lid back and moved on to the CD and DVD rack by the entertainment center. While he was skimming the titles for popular music, movies and shows, Kristoff found a diamond gold watch. It sat at the very top of the CD/DVD rack and Kristoff guessed it had probably been misplaced. He latched it around his wrist, and it fit perfectly. He admired it a bit before continuing his search. He scoured the entire living room and couldn't find anything else small that looked remotely expensive, so he started to move to the stairs that went up to the second floor to check the bedrooms. Most of the valuables would be upstairs, he knew, locked away in a small safe, hidden in the underwear drawer, or under loose floorboards in the closet. He'd been doing this job for so long that he knew every single place a person might hide their most precious belongings.

But before he made it to the staircase a muffled clatter that seemed to be coming from somewhere below him stopped him in his tracks. He froze, forcing himself to stay as still as a rock, and listened carefully, trying to identify what it was he heard. He was greeted with silence.

Relaxing his tense muscles and releasing a shaky breath, Kristoff again made an attempt to get to the stairs, which were closer to the front door. He had just left the living room and was now in the hallway that dissected the building. Straight ahead of him was the kitchen, and he could see the polished linoleum floor when he shone his light through the partially open doorway. To his right was the back door, and the front door was to his left. There were two other doors in the hallway as well and he was thinking about checking out the one near the back door when he heard the smothered sound yet again. This time he heard it much clearer and it came from the room to the left of the kitchen.

 _Could someone else be living here too?_ Kristoff wondered, covering the flashlight with his hand to darken the room. As far as he knew, the woman, Elsa, was the sole occupant of the house. He stepped toward the hard wooden door and pressed his ear to it and strained to hear something from behind it. Very faintly he thought he heard what sounded like sobbing, and then much louder a cry for help.

Kristoff jumped back from the door, breathing hard. Had he heard right? Was someone in trouble in there? Should he go check and make sure everything was okay? He slapped himself for having such a stupid idea and shook his head. He had to finish what he'd started and then leave. Get in, steal, and get out without being caught. If he went to investigate he could get himself into serious trouble and he didn't want that.

"Alright then. Just ignore it and move along," he whispered aloud, very low.

He ordered his legs to move but they remained stiffly in place. He couldn't pull himself away from the door, he had to know what was going on down there. Because the noise had sounded so distant he guessed he'd find stairs behind the door that led down to a basement.

Eyeing the frost covered doorknob curiously, his gloved hand wrapped around it and he twisted and pulled... but the door stuck and he figured it was locked. Kristoff thought about giving up then but the locked door intrigued him. Obviously it was locked to keep people out- and possibly to prevent whoever was down there from escaping, but why? It suddenly became a priority for him to find out the secret.

And who knew? Maybe there was something worth stealing down there.

Getting down on his knees, Kristoff set his bag of loot on the floor and, with picking tools in hand, began to break into the basement. It took him less time than it did with the front door to get it opened. He did it so quickly and skillfully he couldn't help but be proud of his work, but he didn't spend much time gloating. As soon as the door was unlocked he gathered up his things, ducked into the kitchen for a split second and reached for the nearest thing he could get his hands on- a broom, what would be his only protection from any attacks he might receive from the person in the basement if they initiated one. Kristoff refused to carry any weapons with him while robbing places because he would only get into more trouble if he ended up getting caught. He'd been lucky so far.

With broom in hand he eased the door open slowly. It creaked and groaned, causing him to grit his teeth. A blast of coldness hit him and he bit his tongue to prevent from exclaiming in surprise. Squinting, he peered down into the chilling darkness. It was not the pitch black dark that was expected of a basement. Faint traces of white showed on the walls and steps, and when Kristoff pointed his flashlight he realized it was ice.

Ice? What in the world?

Tucking the broom under his armpit, Kristoff cautiously descended the steps, which gave off loud squeaky protests as his heavy feet put weight on them, lighting the way with his flashlight and holding on tightly to the railing to avoid slipping. Several times he almost turned around and fled, leaving what he didn't steal behind and taking whatever he managed to grab with him, the uncertainty of what he'd find below unsettling.

But he surged on.

At the bottom of the stairs, hanging on the wall was a mirror. Cracks zigzagged all over it, and chipped pieces of glass littered the icy floor, sparkling directly beneath it. Kristoff found himself staring directly into his own gray eyes as he pointed the light at his reflection, at his large rounded nose and lack of a mustache - something he'd been trying to grow ever since he was a teenager. He observed his pouty lips that jutted out and made him look as if he were about to cry and remembered all the times he'd been made fun of at school. Kids were always calling him Baby because of his lips and he hated it. He patted his shaggy blond hair, what wasn't covered by his black hat, and felt how dry it was as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger against a hank of it. He always considered shaving his head completely, that way no hair could fall out and leave evidence that he'd been there behind. Even if he wanted to, Kristoff would never dare get rid of all his hair. He would feel naked without it and would miss it badly, so shaving it off was out of the question.

Kristoff's scrutiny of himself in the mirror was cut short when he took in his surroundings. He directed the light around the frost shrouded room, his breath coming out in puffs of smoke, expecting to see an old basement filled with junk. All he saw was a line of shelves. Three of the four walls he could see had shelves upon shelves, and on each and every shelf were glass jars of various sizes- small, medium, large. None of the jars were empty, every single one of them was full. With what, Kristoff couldn't tell. At least not right away. All the jars held the same exact thing though, that he could tell.

Sticking one end of his flashlight into his mouth to hold it steady and putting the broom down flat on the floor behind him, Kristoff picked up one of the jars and discovered the jar was made up of ice and not glass like he thought. He held it up in front of his face to get a good look at what was in it.

What he saw made his eyes pop out of his head. He opened his mouth in shock and horror, forgetting that his mouth held his flashlight, and it fell and smashed on the floor, blinking the basement into darkness. Seconds after, a crash and shattering of ice that resembled the sound of glass breaking followed right behind it.

Kristoff had tried to make a grab for his flashlight and dropped the jar in the process. Plunged into darkness, and knowing what was sitting freely around his feet, with a shudder of revulsion Kristoff thrust himself backwards and stepped on the brush part of the broom, whipping the handle up to smash him in the back of the head. He careened forward from the surprising blow and stepped onto something hard and slippery, causing him to slip forward and blindly crash into the shelves, knocking them over domino style. Everything on the shelves tumbled to the floor.

Scrambling to his feet, he gagged and retreated backwards again, this time avoiding the broom, until his back hit the stairway wall. A tiny protrusion from the wall poked his back and he recognized the nub as a light switch, and because the thought of being down there will no lights whatsoever scared him out of his mind he flipped it, driving away the darkness with bright light given off by a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

Now that there was light once again, Kristoff was able to see the mess he created. And he saw very clearly the things in the jars.

Lying beside his broken flashlight was a heart. A human heart. All the filled jars occupying the shelves left standing contained hearts frozen in ice. Tons and tons of bloody hearts that once had been inside an actual living human being.

He couldn't comprehend what any of it meant. Hearts? Were they actually real? They couldn't be, surely... But then why keep them in a frozen state? And if they were real, where did they all come from? How long had they been there and, most importantly, why were they there? Was it possible that the woman was some kind of a doctor? That would explain all the money she possessed. Still, doctor or not, it didn't answer why there was a large supply of hearts stocked in her home basement.

A sharp intake of breath made him spin around frantically and he found himself staring at a young woman. She sat in a chair that was flush against the wall. Her hair was strawberry-blonde with a random white streak on the right side. It was wavy and chaotic, like she'd been shaking her head wildly from side to side repeatedly. She wore regular blue jeans, a sky blue t-shirt and a denim jacket that was unzipped. Her entire face was pale and her cheeks were stained from recent tears. Kristoff noticed that she was tied up. Her wrists were bound behind her and her ankles were tied tightly to the chair's legs, rendering her immobile. In her lap lay a balled up sock that had been used as a gag. The girl had managed to shake it free to scream for help.

"Help me," she said in the most pitiful voice Kristoff had ever heard. When Kristoff just stared at her like an idiot she said more urgently, "Please! Help me! Untie me before she comes back!" With a choked gasp she yanked forward, trying to wriggle herself free.

"Wha..." Blinking rapidly, Kristoff's feet finally carried him forward and he rushed to the girl's side and began untying her legs. As his fingers clumsily fumbled at the rope, he discovered it was not a normal rope that trapped the girl to the chair. What wrapped around the girl's limbs was ice.

 _How was that possible?_ Kristoff thought befuddled as he pulled and tugged and kicked at the slippery, icy constrictors to no avail. He cursed and then looked around for something to help him free the girl but the basement had literally nothing of use that he could see. An idea flashed into his head and he shoved his hand in his pockets looking for a lighter. He found it and flicked it on and held it against the ice binding the girl's ankles.

"What is going on here?" he questioned as he worked, watching as the ice painstakingly slowly started to melt under the tiny flame's heat. "How long have you been here?"

The girl started to cry and hyperventilate, and when she spoke she blubbered and stammered, making it hard for Kristoff to understand her words, aggravating him. The girl had been through hell, obviously. He could barely think coherent thoughts himself because of the shock of seeing the hearts eerily on display, but he needed to get some answers from her.

Pausing with his task, he firmly gripped her shoulders and gave her a solid shake. "Calm down and breathe, okay? You're not making any sense!" He returned the flame to the ice, and quickly thought of something to say to calm and distract her. "I'm Kristoff. What's your name?"

Her shaking and crying lessened only slightly but when she answered him he heard her perfectly clear. "Anna. It's Anna," she sniffled. "Thank you so much for helping me, Christopher."

"It's Kristoff," he corrected, and wondered why it mattered that she said his name wrong. He also wondered why he bothered telling her his name at all. Once they got the hell out of there the girl would go to the police and mention his existence and they'd start looking for him. "And don't mention it, really."

"Kristoff, sorry…" Anna's nose was running, leaking mucus at an incredibly fast rate. She desperately wanted to wipe her nose but she was too embarrassed to ask Kristoff to do it for her and he already had his hands full anyway. She tried rubbing the snot against her shoulder but she couldn't reach and so she gave up, slumping in the chair. "You have to get me out of here!" she wailed. "She killed Hans!" She closed her eyes with all her might as if by doing so she could erase what she witnessed from her mind. "S-she stabbed him in the chest with her fingernails and wrenched his... oh my god it was so horrible! Get me out of here! Please! She's a monster! S-she's going to kill me…" Her lips were blue from the cold and trembling as she said pathetically, "I don't want to die…"

"Shut up," Kristoff said, starting to panic. His shaking hands weren't helping him make any progress, causing the lighter to bounce and miss the ice as Anna's frightful tale grossly upset his nerves, flooding disturbing images into his mind. He had to stop and breathe deeply to get his hands as steady as possible. His voice shaking, he heard himself ask, "Who is she? What is she?"

There was a long pause and Kristoff glanced up to see Anna's painful eyes staring back at him.

"She's… my sister."


End file.
